Meet Father Basil
by Imgonnaneedabiggermouth
Summary: Sherlock has gone into hiding after his fake suicide. He is now disguised as the Scottish Father Basil, until one day when John finds him by chance. A short Christmas story for KidClimax for the tumblr secret santa.


A short Christmas Johnlock fanfic for .com

Synopsis: Sherlock goes into hiding as a priest and has to hide it from John, who meets him my mistake in church. Major fluff with a cute ending.

Merry Christmas!

-nico

"Sherlock?" The familiar voice called out. The priest stopped dead in his tracks. John was not a religious man, he had never even attended church when he lived with Sherlock. Why here?. Why now? Mycroft had insisted on hiding him away in the old musty church. It was a place of sanctuary, a place where no one would look for him. But here he stood, in the old cathedral, his hair dyed ginger and cut short with black framed glasses pushed up on his nose. No scarf, no long coat, no riding crop in hand. And John still called out to him. He turned tentatively to the voice with a small apologetic smile. "Sherlock?" John whispered.

"I'm afraid you have me confused with someone else." Sherlock shrugged. "I'm sorry. I'm quite new here. Just came down from Glasgow." He added a Scottish lilt to his voice. Mycroft had insisted on the silly voice change, but he saw the merit now. John stood blankly, his eyes looking into Sherlock's, searching for his friend. "I'm father Basil." Sherlock stuck out his hand. John shook it out of custom, his small hand enveloped in Sherlock's larger one.

"John Watson, sorry, you look quite a bit like one of my best friends." He downcast his eyes in embarrassment.

"Have you not seen him in a while?" Sherlock asked, drawing his eyebrows and playing the part. He shrugged, "I only ask because you seem shocked."

"He's dead." John's hands were shaking. The tremor must have re-surfaced from the surprise. His eyes were sunken, hair uncombed, and he had obviously lost weight. Sherlock tried to suppress his analysis, knowing all he would find was pain.

"Would you like some tea?" He gestured a hand towards the rectory. He prayed to God that John would accept his offer. It had been so long since he had spent time with his best friend.

"Thank you for the invitation Father, but I have to get to work." John turned slowly and Sherlock followed.

"Oh really, where do you work?" Sherlock asked.

"St. Barts." John replied curtly.

"Why that's just around the corner." Sherlock grinned. He had created Father Basil months ago. Caring, kind, and never rude. Mycroft had bet he couldn't pull it off, but he had managed fine so far. Most night he tried following Moriarty's web. Tracking it, looking for a finite end, but it never amounted to anything. Moriarty's body wasn't found, and Sherlock was convinced the spider was not dead. Moriarty enjoyed theatrics on a much higher scale than himself. But Sherlock was an old toy, left broken and without a future. It was taken from him. He was a fraud in society, and even as the memory of him faded it would be forever ingrained there. And his new life wasn't as bad as he had thought. He had freedom and until today had kept a watchful eye on John. He had updates from Mycroft almost every day. Every day he was forced to read about the repetitious cycle John Watsons husk of a life had become. But what could he do? Come out of hiding? Expose himself to Moriarty's wrath again and put John in danger _again_?

John Watson visited the church regularly after that, conversing with the kind priest who looked so much like his friend. Months passed, and they grew close, much to Sherlock's surprise. They got coffee, ate dinner, and the ever friendly Father Basil slowly revealed a darker side to his personality. Despite Sherlock's disguise he still had trouble hiding certain things. Little obvious reads he got on John. He would point them out and receive a dubious glare from his friend. It was more or less the same as it had been. John had once said Basil reminded him so much of Sherlock. He couldn't bring himself to be disappointed in his best friend. He saw Sherlock die, and John wasn't one for false hope.

Everything changed on a rainy night in December. John and Basil were meeting for gift shopping. The shelves of the small bric-a-brac shop were lined with candles and small Christmas parcels. Basil studied each closely, so he could determine the most logical gifts. John didn't need a magnifying glass, nor did he need a pair of theatre scopes.

It was all very objective until he found some comfortable slippers in John's size. He had once complained about having cold feet years ago. Sherlock had cataloged the information away, and he was glad it was useful now. He hadn't even noticed that John has already made his purchase. They left, scarves wrapped tightly around their necks and made their way to the comfortable new apartment John had been living in.

"Happy Christmas eve." John grinned.

"Happy, if I choose to ignore the fact that it hasn't snowed yet." Sherlock pouted. "In Glasgow we always have a white Christmas."

"That would be nice." John breathed. "Anyway, it's almost 12, would you like to open your present now?" He pulled a medium sized package from his shopping bag. Sherlock shook is curiously, it was light. He pulled off the tape and opened the white box.

The hat sat surrounded by tissue paper. And Sherlock was rendered speechless. He looked up, eyes wide and he pulled off his glasses. "John." He dropped the accent as he picked up the deerstalker and his hands ran along the material.

"Merry Christmas, Sherlock." John leaned in and pressed a kiss against Sherlock's lips.


End file.
